When Joe died, life stopped. It didn't break into before and after, because there was no after.
After school, Frank moved to study at NYU. The City was just a two-hour's drive from Bayport, which allowed him to stay close to the family while he waited for Joe to join him at the University a year later. Despite the distance, they remained as close as before and even took a few cases together.
But it was not a case that took Joe's life. It was a pure accident that put an end to all their plans and dreams.
On Friday of June 26th, Joe was driving to NYC to meet up with his brother for the weekend and lost control on the slippery road. The car hit the road guard and crushed into a ditch. Before the many witnesses could get to him and help, fuel tank caught a spark of fire. The DNA tests confirmed that the body, burnt beyond recognition in explosion, was Joe's.
Fenton and Frank investigated every possibility of crime behind the accident, but after a month of looking into every detail they had to give up. They hadn't been on a case. No one sought revenge. No one called to say they held Joe as hostage and wanted something in return.
Joe was just gone.
No one was to blame for that.
It was just the rain that happened to fall that morning.
Simple as that.
Pain is always simple.
When August came, Frank had no more tears to cry and no more strength to deal with sympathies. He moved back to New York, only to be attacked of the memories and shattered dreams of how the brothers were going to enjoy student years. So he did the only thing there was left to do - escape, the further the better.
He weighted the opportunities of other English-speaking countries. Australia looked too sunny and cheerful. Canada was too cold. South Africa didn't have any Universities he could transfer to. That left the United Kingdom. Cloudy, but with occasional sunshine. Cool, but not freezing. With well-developed system of higher education. To make things more convincing, London's 8 million multi-national population made it possible to mingle among people. Perfect.
His parents didn't object, knowing they could not stop him – both their children were stubborn in going for their ambitions. Frank and Joe always got what they wanted, they just did it in different ways. Frank would think things through and develop an action plan that he would follow until he ticked the objective "done". Joe would just start with what he had and when he had time, going with the flow until he was successful – people called him lucky, but he would always say he was not a nerd to stick to action plans.
With Frank packing his bags, Fenton and Laura lost two children to the summer.
His friends did not stop him, too. They knew the brothers long enough to know that if they ever lost one, they'd instantly lose the other one, too.
The only person to protest was Callie when Frank told her about his plan in a coffee house.
"Great, Frank, just great," she said to the news. "Very thoughtful of you."
Frank lowered his eyes to his cup of latte. Callie wanted to let off steam and he prepared himself for the conversation he knew would be unpleasant.
"You've thought this through, haven't you? You've thought it all, every little bit of it. Every, but one – the one that included me."
The foam of the latte started to settle. Absent-mindedly, he started to pick at it with a spoon.
"What about us, Frank?" Callie asked.
What about them?
"I feel your pain," she said quietly and put a hand above his. "We weren't the best of friends, but we were friends. I lost him, too. And it hurt, Frank. It still hurts like hell. Other people lost him, too. They are hurting too. We all are hurting. But no one is running away, because there's no point in running. Wherever you run, you can't run from yourself."
Frank fought the tears that he thought had dried. But there were always more of them, at the memory of his dead brother.
"Frank?" Callie squeezed his hand. "Stay?"
"I can't," he whispered hoarsely and took a sip of his coffee to moisture his suddenly parched throat. He mastered all his courage to look her in the eyes, "I can't, Callie. I'm sorry."
"Stay and it'll get better. Not now, it'll take time to heal, but it will," she said pleadingly. "I promise it will heal and-"
"Don't promise anything," he interrupted her.
"Damn it, Frank, life is unpredictable," she said fiercely. "No, he couldn't keep his promise to always be there, but he tried to keep it every day of his life. Doesn't it matter?"
"Callie!" he warned her.
"I don't know why God took him, Frank. I don't know why he takes some people and lets others live a little longer-"
"Callie, please- stop!"
"But you can't spend the entire time of the rest of your life grieving and running away. Joe would have not wanted-"
"Joe did not want to die, Callie! Joe would have not wanted to have DNA tests to identify him! He would have not even wanted us to have this conversation about me grieving over him, because he wanted to live!"
His voice was louder than intended, some people turned to look at him. Callie took her hand off his and rubbed her face.
"I don't know what he would have wanted me to do, because he's nowhere around to tell me. So excuse me for having to make my own decisions about how I should spend the entire time of the rest of my life," he sharply stood up and fled out of the coffeehouse, unable to stay a second longer to finish the conversation and officially split.
That was their last conversation. They say that the English leave without good-byeing, too.
Ever since he moved to England, he only phoned his parents. Laura sent him regards from his friends, but he never took the time to call them back. The only person who decided to call directly and who took the time to understand the rules of dialling UK landline phone numbers was Chet Morton.
He never promised time would heal the pain of losing someone, he never gave a single piece of advice about how one should cope with their sibling's death. Matter of fact, he called to ask if he could stay over when he'd come in mid-November for some flowery exhibition. Mrs Morton wanted some seeds, sold exclusively in England, and Chet was kind enough to offer to fly across the ocean to get them. His rationale was lousy, but Frank didn't have the heart to say no to him.